A/N: So…I usually get good feedback from you guys but last chapter I got almost none. I write for you guys so if you're not interested in this story anymore or something, please let me know. It's okay if you aren't, I just don't want to waste anyone's time.
The waiting was tortuous. Sam thought that every muscle, every damn tendon in his body was going to snap under the strain of just sitting there and watching. Watching the white wall on the other side of Dean's bed morph into a swirling kaleidoscope of shapes and colors when his eyes got too tired and slid out of focus. Watching the nurses as they traced paths in the shiny floor that surely was beginning to wear from their constant journeys that didn't seem to vary. Watching Dean or more accurately, watching Dean's chest because it was the only part of his brother that was moving, despite that the doctor said he might be getting better. Sam couldn't see any difference in the body in front of him, there were no signals to show him that Dean's lungs were deciding to work or that his heart was deciding not to give out today.
Sam just needed to know. He felt awful thinking of it, had even walked clear out of Dean's room a few hours ago because he'd been crushed under the guilt of the thought.
I just want him to get better or die.
He'd scrambled quickly over the words as if he'd said them out loud, as if he'd spoken without raising his hand first. Of course he didn't want Dean to die. Sam knew that if his brother didn't make it through this Sam himself could never go back to the way things were. It would be as if someone had carved out one of his major organs with a butter knife. That's not something one just simply recovered from. Sam knew that. But if Dean was going to go, Sam wanted it to happen soon because this watching had to be worse than anything. He wondered how all the people on TV did it, those programs that spotlighted the unfortunate souls who were stuck in a vegetative state for years while their family floundered in false hope and hospital bills.
Not that Sam was thinking only about himself in the matter. He didn't want Dean like this for the rest of his life. And Sam knew that Dean wouldn't want this either, wouldn't want to be stuck in a bed with rails like a toddler, wouldn't want a tube the thickness of two fingers jammed down his throat.
So if Dean was going to die, Sam wanted him to get on with it. It would be easier for everyone.
But if Dean was going to get better…
Well, Sam wanted him to get on with that choice too.
It'd only been a day and a half and still Sam done with the waiting. Raised with a knife in one and a gun in the other, Sam was always fighting something. Despite the differences that separated him from this father – and even from Dean – he couldn't deny he was cast from the same mold as the other two. He was meant to be moving, on his feet with a purpose, a destination to focus on. This whole doing nothing thing was not his style.
"Have you eaten anything today?" Marion asked when she came in during the late afternoon. John had been in and out of the room all day, taking his uneasiness elsewhere while Sam was content to let it boil down to the soles of his feet and trap him in his uncomfortable plastic chair.
"No," Sam said.
"The cafeteria is just opening for dinner. Why don't you go down there? I'll sit with Dean."
"No thanks," Sam said flatly.
"You want to end up in a bed next to your brother?" the older woman said, fiddling with one of the controls on the ventilator.
Yes.
"No," he said out loud because he knew that's what he was supposed to say.
"Then you need to eat something," Marion said.
"I'm not hungry. How am I supposed to eat something when I'm not even hungry?" he pointed out and she rolled her eyes but dropped the subject. Marion knew a lost cause when she saw one and this Sam Winchester boy was toeing the line with those gangly looking feet of his. She worried he was going to take a nosedive right over the edge and the result was going to be a full on disaster.
"How's Dean?" he asked to change the subject.
"No change," she told him for the tenth time that day. And just like the other nine times, Sam let out a frustrated sigh, kneading his knuckles along the length of his thigh, letting them chafe roughly against the denim of his jeans. "Sam, you have to be patient. Your brother was seriously injured and it's going to take a while for him to heal. But he's fighting."
"I know," Sam said trying not to sound too miserable.
"He's maintaining the lower oxygen levels," the nurse encouraged. "That's good news. He's already gotten farther than he was supposed to. He definitely wants to live. Sometimes that's enough." She patted Sam on the shoulder on her way out. She wasn't as warm and fuzzy as Angie but she obviously cared for Dean and had taken excellent care of him. Had taken care of Sam after John's display of violence.
Sam touched his fingertips to the swollen bruise that had risen dramatically despite the ice packs Marion had kept bringing him. She'd assured him nothing under the skin was damaged but that didn't do much for the ever-present pain of his puffy lip and tender cheek. John certainly hadn't been holding back when he'd thrown himself at his son and Sam had a feeling that three years worth of anger was now blossoming across the left side of his face. The two had barely spoken to each other since the morning's altercation.
When the clock hit ten o'clock and John stood to leave for the apartment, Sam watched with narrowed eyes as his father stretched then leaned down to place a goodbye kiss on Dean's forehead. That was new. But then Sam was standing also, murmuring his own goodnight to his brother, and following John out of the hospital.
They walked to the hotel in continued silence, Sam because he had nothing to say and John because he didn't exactly know what you were supposed to say to your son after attacking him in the hallway of a hospital. When they got to the lobby and walked inside, Sam hung back, pulling his almost dead cell phone from his pocket.
"I've got to call Jess," he said, turning away from his father and heading to an armchair pushed into the corner of the spacious lobby. When he sank into it, facing out with one knee thrown lazily over the other, John had disappeared.
"Hey babe," Jess said, sounding breathless as she answered.
"What were you doing?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said. "I left the phone in the bedroom and had to run and get it." She waited for Sam to pick up the conversation because she didn't want to ask about Dean, didn't even want to say his name in case…
"I just got back from the hospital," Sam said quietly. The chair had a lot of give in it and Sam sank in further, wondering if it would be possible to just sleep here. After all day sitting on a piece of curved plastic, this was a four-star accommodation.
"Yeah?" Jess prompted. She could hear the quivering in her boyfriend's voice, could hear the exhaustion that strung itself over the four and a half hours separating them.
"He's still hanging in there," he said finally and felt an odd sense of relief when Jess let out a sigh.
"That's good news, right?"
He couldn't tell her. Couldn't tell her that traitorous thought that had leaked in.
I just want him to get better or die.
Instead, he repeated back what Dr. Cantwell had told them about Dean's lungs and his brain and his heart and as he said the words he could hear himself growing more depressed by the second, the urge to snap the phone shut growing so strong he had to move it to his other hand and flex his fingers away from the device.
Jess was in the middle of spewing some motivational crap that made her sound like Marion when all of a sudden Sam felt a weight pressing on his chest and the need to end this godforsaken conversation before he exploded at his girlfriend in a very unboyfriendlike rant.
"Jess, I'm exhausted," he interrupted. He hurried through her pause. "I'm sorry, I just didn't sleep much last night and was with Dean all day and I need to sleep."
"You do," she agreed and if he had been that kind of person, he would have kissed the phone for her tolerance. Sam worried that being in such constant contact with his father was going to turn him back into that version of himself he had learned to hate, but Jess, this wonderful girl sitting in California, reminded him that he was different now.
"Goodnight," he said, almost whispered and this time she gave out a different kind of sigh, one that made him ache for her lips and the warmth of her body pressed against his.
"Goodnight, Sam. I love you."
Those last words gave him just enough energy to heave himself out of the luxurious chair and stumble into the hotel room; he was certain he was asleep before he even closed his eyes.
xxx
What Sam wanted was a black, dreamless sleep that let him forget what was going on in the real world. What he got was of thirty minutes of restless sleep before he lurched awake, always covered in a cold sweat, the sheets twisted painfully around his legs as if he'd been thrashing around. He couldn't ever remember what the dreams were about, he just woke up long enough to blink at the clock on the bedside table and then sink into the pillow for another round of nightmares.
After a few hours, he got up in the dark to go to the bathroom and on his way back noticed that it had somehow been five hours since he'd arrived at the hotel. He needed to get back to the hospital, get back to Dean before his brother woke up and found that no one was with him. Except that both Sam's mind and body were exhausted with the drain of the last two days and instead of putting on his shoes, he laid back down in bed, only half aware as stared at the black ceiling, flashes of Dean's injuries making his stomach squirm. He rolled over, faceplanting into the pillow, suffocating himself for a long moment, ignoring how much that they made his new bruises ache before tilting his head up to take a breath.
Dean. I need to go to Dean.
Sam rolled his neck lazily so that he was staring at his father's bed. His father's empty bed. Well, if John was at the hospital in the middle of the night than there was no need for Sam to be there too. The two of them shouldn't even be in the same city let alone sharing a hotel room and a hospital cubicle the size of a walk-in closet. No, Sam would just grab another couple hours and then return to the hospital where he would demand more answers from that doctor.
And call Jess again. And try not to fight with his father. And maybe eat something this time.
So much to do. He sighed out a breath that seemed to echo around the room and then Sam drifted back to a world he didn't particularly want to visit anymore.
xxx
Despite the numerous awakenings throughout the night, Sam woke up with an energy much more buoyant than the one he had fallen asleep with. He was determined to make today a good day. He was going to take a quick shower and then call Jess on his walk over to the hospital because he knew she would be up early for her shift at the café she worked at during weekday mornings. After that, he would seek out Dr. Cantwell and try to learn as much about Dean's condition as he could so that maybe he could help his brother out in some way. He thought about maybe apologizing to his father but the minute that thought sprung into his mind, Sam dismissed it. He wasn't ready to go that far. After all, the guy had socked him right in the face yesterday and hadn't even said sorry for it. No, Sam wasn't going to be the first one to apologize even if he shouldn't have said those things to John. He knew he'd crossed a line, which was precisely why he wasn't too bothered spitting out a chunk of cheek flesh as he rinsed his mouth. Sam had been roughed up before. By John. By Dean. By monsters. By other college guys during his first semester when he had been stupid enough to join the rugby team. Being hurt didn't bother him.
He dressed quickly after his shower and pulling a towel through his hair when John opened the door, wearing the same clothes as the last two days.
"Hey," Sam said, sticking his head around the bathroom door. "Is Dean okay?" John peered at his son from under heavy lids.
"I thought you were at the hospital," he mumbled.
"No I've been here – wait, does that mean you weren't at the hospital?" John shook his head and kicked off his shoes; they flung to the other side of the room, hitting the wall before landing on the carpet.
"Nope," John said now sitting down on the bed and peeling off his socks which joined the heap of shoes.
"So Dean's been alone all night?"
"I guess," John said. "I wasn't there and you weren't there so…yes." Sam's good mood was evaporating rapidly and as he pulled on his own shoes, he reminded himself to take deep breaths. The hospital had his number; if anything had happened, Sam would know. He would have woken up to the phone ringing. Dean was fine.
Still, Sam didn't like the idea of his brother just lying there with no company. And what if he had woken up? He would have thought Sam abandoned him. The youngest Winchester's stomach flipped.
"Where were you?" he asked.
"Nowhere."
But when John's head turned to answer the question, the smell drifted a few feet and Sam's entire body went stiff.
"Have you been drinking?"
"Quit it, Sam," John said, sounding much more like the father that Sam remembered from his youth. "I had two beers, that's it. I'm just exhausted."
"I was exhausted too! But I came back and slept, like a normal person. I didn't go find the nearest bar." John flinched but kept his gaze away from his son. He didn't want to see the disappointment in his son's eyes. He knew it was there. Sam was always so goddamned disappointed in John and it drove a stake through the older man's heart. He had been exhausted yes, but also so wired with the fear of losing Dean that he couldn't just lay on the hotel bed anymore.
"What were you thinking?" Sam continued, flailing a long arm in emphasis. He was burning again, letting the familiar fire flow through him until it consumed his whole body in anger. His father was such a shit.
"Looking for God," he thought he heard John mutter and Sam decided not to believe the fact he'd only had two beers.
"You better be sober the next time you show up at the hospital," he warned, shrugging on his coat, adjusting the collar as he stared hard at his father.
"I'm sober now," John insisted. "I told you, I'm tired."
"Sober, tired, and looking for God. I know, I heard you."
Sam left the room without giving his father a chance to make a bigger fool out of himself. He spent the walk across the parking lot trying to push the very idea of John Winchester out of his head. Knowing his father, he'd sleep off the many drinks with a long, long nap and for once, Sam was grateful for his father's notorious drunken stupors. That meant he could be alone with Dean, with no one to interrupt his guard duty.
Angie was back on duty when he pushed open the ICU doors and though she was talking to someone Sam didn't recognize, she waved to him and he lifted a hand in greeting. He was actually grateful to see the kind woman; it felt as if he'd known her for years instead of two days. He didn't trust anyone around his brother but Angie made it easier to watch everyone prodding at Dean.
Again, nothing had changed as Sam took his seat but he started babbling to Dean almost immediately, filling his brother in on the past couple days.
"They say you might be trying to get better," Sam told him. "And if you can hear me buddy, just know to keep fighting, okay? I'm gonna be right here when you wake up." He entwined his hand in his brother's, noting the extra IV line that had appeared overnight. "Look Dean, I know it might seem easier to just drift away. This life…well, it's not exactly a piece of peach pie, is it? It's painful and scary and there are so many bad things out there. I almost wouldn't blame you for checking out early. You've had so much shit to deal with over the years that this must seem like a vacation to you, doesn't it?"
Sam pulled in a wavering breath and leaned closer to his brother.
"But Dean, I promise that if you come back, it will be worth it. Your family is here, man. I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere. And Dad…" Sam hesitated then went on, "he's here for you. This is really messing him up, you know. You being so hurt and all. I'm not sure he'd make it through this if you…don't." Sam's fingers had moved to brush at his brother's hair and he rested his chin on the arm that was resting over the top rail of Dean's bed.
"And you know there might be bad things about this world, and I'm sure it's real nice where you might be going, but you have to consider all the good things that are down here." Sam cracked just the hint of a smile, recalling some of his brother's favorite vices. "Like all the hot blondes you could be picking up at bars because even though you say you don't have a type as long as they have a nice ass, I know you like blondes the best. Even better, think of all the blondes with accents, man. You can't miss out on that. And of course all that beer and pie. They probably don't have beer in heaven, you know. You have to consider that; it's a terrible selling point, isn't it? So why not stay here with us?"
Sam let out a sigh, rocking his chin to the side before refocusing back on his brother, voice getting softer.
"There are other reasons too, Dean. Like when you wake up in the morning and it's raining out and you know you have nowhere to be so you get to lay in bed under the covers and just listen to the rain hitting the roof. For you it's probably the roof of the Impala." Sam shrugged. "I kind of always liked riding in the Impala when it was bad weather. You and I would be in the backseat, sharing that green army blanket. Remember that thing? It was scratchy and smelled like an old lady but it was so warm. And we would just sit there listening to Dad's music, eating snacks without worrying about where all the crumbs were falling. Remember how we each used to pick a raindrop and then watch as they raced down the window? It was so dumb but we treated it like the Daytona 500."
Sam pressed his forehead against his arm and closed his eyes, biting into his lower lip to force the tears back. There was no reason to cry, not yet. He wasn't going to cry unless Dean died, that's what he'd promised himself.
"You have to remember, Dean," he whispered. "Remember all that stuff because those are the kinds of reasons you should stick around. You've got so much left to do. You're the one out of all of us who was going to make a difference in this shitty world. So just think about it, okay?" Sam finished, clearing his throat. "Don't go anywhere until you think about it." He watched Dean for a few more minutes in silence before the curtain opened and Angie walked in, pulling the curtain back in place around her.
"Good morning," she said.
"Hey," he said, expecting her to pull on a pair of gloves and start checking Dean's vitals but instead she plopped down in John's unoccupied chair across from Sam. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Here," she said, handing him a plastic wrapped sandwich. "I ran down to the cafeteria just before my break started and picked this up for you. Someone told me you didn't eat a thing yesterday." When Sam continued to stare blankly she rolled her eyes, "Marion. Marion told me."
"The nurse?" Angie laughed quietly.
"I find it hard to believe you've met another Marion since you've been here."
"Thanks," Sam said. "But I'm not hungry." The nurse raised her eyebrows and leaned back in the chair, folding her arms across her chest.
"Sam come on. You're super tall and probably still haven't stopped growing. Whether or not you think you're hungry, your body needs the nourishment."
"You sound an awful lot like a medical professional." She ignored his sarcasm, staring hard at the sandwich until he began picking at the plastic wrapping. Okay, maybe he was a little hungry. To his surprise, the sandwich wasn't that bad for having been wrapped in cellophane. The turkey was a little dry but there was enough mayo to balance it out and even some onions to make it more flavorful. It wasn't gourmet but Angie was right: his body appreciated it.
"That's better," she said as he bit into the second half. "I'm telling you, mothers always know best."
"Mothers?" Sam asked then did a re-calculation of the woman in front of him. He had initially thought she was young, maybe around Dean's age, but at her recent admission he could see that she had a few more lines to her face than he'd originally assumed. Maybe closer to thirty.
"Yep," she said proudly. "My little girl just turned eighteen months old."
"Oh," Sam said because he wasn't quite sure what to say to that. "Um, congratulations?" She smiled at his awkwardness.
"You know, I was thinking when I came in this morning that I don't know much about Dean. I mean, I know handsome over here has got some pretty eyes and that he doesn't it like when I touch him, but other than that…nothing."
"What do you want to know?" Sam asked cautiously, instantly wary that this was a ploy to uncover the real cause of Dean's injuries. But Angie just shrugged.
"What does he like to do? Does he have a girlfriend? Did he go to school? Play any sports? What's important to know about Dean Winchester?"
Sam considered the last question. Dean had done some impressive things in his life. Like killing his first werewolf at the ripe age of fourteen while John held the creature down as Sam watched from the passenger seat of the Impala. He was the only person Sam knew who could shoot just as cleanly with his left hand as with his right. There was also that time he and Sam had gone on a Hunt – just a few weeks before Sam left for Stanford – and Dean had single-handedly taken down two ghouls after Sam had gotten himself locked in a closet.
"He didn't go to school," Sam settled on. "Didn't even finish high school actually. Not that he's not smart," Sam said quickly. "He's one of the smartest guys I know. It's just school was a little…conventional for Dean. Plus we moved around a lot so it was hard to keep up with schoolwork."
"Okay," Angie said, watching Dean. "So not an academic. I can appreciate that. It took me two tries to get through nursing school."
"Really?" Sam was surprised. Angie seemed like the type of person who had been top of her class in everything.
"Yeah. I got, uh, led astray my first time around."
"It happens," Sam said.
"It does," she agreed. "So what does Dean do if he's not in school?"
Oh nothing real exciting, just hunts down things with fangs the size of your fingers and decapitates them with a machete.
"He's a mechanic." It was the cover Dean insisted on ever since he had dropped out of school during his senior year and by now it didn't really feel like a lie to Sam. Dean was as good at fixing cars as he was hunting and if he ever got out of this life, Sam was sure that's the direction his brother would go in. Angie wrinkled her nose.
"Like with grease and those weird blue jumpsuits?" Sam chuckled.
"Yeah. Dean loves cars. Our dad used to be a mechanic and he taught Dean everything and then Dean got better than him at fixing the car. If there's one thing Dean really loves, it's his car."
"Yeah?" Angie said, one eyebrow cocked. "Go ahead and tell me what it is, though I can't promise to be impressed. I know nothing about cars. I let my husband deal with that."
"It's a 1967 Chevy Impala. Black. Here," he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "Dean sends me pictures sometimes. I'm sure I've got one. Yeah, here it is." He passed the phone over and let Angie have the phone. She stared at the grainy photo for a moment then nodded slowly.
"Okay, I can see why he'd be into that. It's very pretty. And big." She handed the phone back to him.
"He calls it Baby," Sam said. "When I say he loves it, I mean it."
"To each his own," Angie conceded and then pulled her own phone out of her scrubs. "Now I get to show you my baby." She scrolled through a few pictures before showing him the screen and Sam was looking at a photo of a small child, a little girl with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. She was laughing and trying to grab the camera and he had to admit that although he didn't have much use for children, this one was particularly cute.
"You win," he said and she laughed. "What's her name?"
"Savannah. Best thing that ever happened to me."
"That's great," Sam said and he meant. He might not be overly fond of kids now but he and Jess had discussed the subject once or twice and had agreed they both wanted a family down the road. But hopefully that road was very very long.
"My break's almost over," Angie said. "But I'm glad we had a chance to talk. And now I know what to talk about with Dean when he wakes up." Her eyes flickered to the chart attached to the end of Dean's bed and professionalism seeped into her features. "I heard he didn't wake up at all yesterday."
"No," Sam said.
"Waiting for me, handsome?" she said, standing and this time slipping on the latex gloves. "You just didn't want to do anything exciting without me around, did you? I saw that you got your lungs working though." She shot a glance at Sam. "That's an encouraging sign."
"So I've been told."
"Aaaaannd," Angie drew the word out as she flipped the blankets up again and started removing the bandages, revealing Dean's torn body. Sam looked away, concentrating instead on his brother's face. "There's no sign of infection which is just short of a miracle. Who knew what kind of nasty bacteria that mountain lion was carrying around." This time Sam was ready when Dean reacted to Angie's touch, gentle as it was.
The guttural noises started just as his hand twitched underneath Sam's fingers.
"It's okay," Sam soothed. "She's helping out." But Dean didn't seem to agree because his responses grew more jarring. He shuddered away from the nurse's hands, pressing his body into the bed in an effort to get away. Sam switched his gaze back and forth between Dean and the heart monitor, which was just as unhappy as his brother.
"Easy, Dean," Angie murmured. "Sam, try to calm him down. His heart shouldn't be stressed at all. It could set off a heart attack."
"Dean, it's okay buddy," he tried again, stroking his brother's hair. "You got into a little trouble on a Hunt and now we're fixing you up. But if you don't stay still, you'll make it worse. You don't want that, right?" It wasn't helping and Angie's glances at the heart monitor grew more harried but she had to finish before she could sedate him. Sam swallowed hard as Dean's body jolted again as if shocked by electricity; he could see his brother's eyes moving rapidly under the closed lids.
There was one more thing Sam could try. Something Dean had told him a long time ago when they were kids and had made Sam swear never to repeat. But if he was about to lose Dean to a freaking heart attack, now was not the time to honor childhood promises.
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better." Sam's voice lurched up and down as he found the right rhythm. "Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better." Dean's hands were still twitching but his eyes had stopped moving and this time Sam knewhis brother had turned his head toward him. He was listening.
"Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better. And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders." Sam's voice was anything but steady, but it was helping. Dean's body was still under Angie's quick movements and the noises had quieted to whimpers that tore at Sam's heart.
"That's right," Sam said. "That's the song Mom used to sing to you as a lullaby, isn't it?" A whine came from Dean's throat. "Okay, I'll keep going. Just for you." He took a deep breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and continued, "For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder. Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. Hey Jude, don't let me down, you have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."
By the time Sam finished the third verse, Angie was taping new bandages in place and the heart monitor wasn't shrieking quite as loudly.
"There you go, Dean," she said softly. "All done. I'm so sorry, buddy." It was odd; Sam thought he detected a quiver in the nurse's voice but when she turned around to him, she flashed him her usual smile.
"Don't know what we would do without you. Don't know what Dean would do without you. I'm going to go get the doctor. I'll be back in ten minutes, okay? Just keep him calm and hit the red button if there's a problem." Sam nodded and she left.
And even after all that had just occurred in the last five minutes, Sam wasn't quite prepared when he turned around and saw that Dean's eyes were open and staring right at him.